The art supply connection was their first real lead.It explained why Sarah Morrison had been targeted and suggested that the killer was monitoring public information about chemical safety issues in schools.Following that trail might lead them to other potential targets, or reveal the broader pattern connecting these elemental murders.
As they left the auditorium and walked back toward the kindergarten wing, Miles felt the familiar excitement of a case gaining momentum.But it was tempered by the knowledge that if this killer was indeed the same as the others, Sarah Morrison’s murder was not going to be an isolated event.
And whoever the next victim should be, time was running out for them.
CHAPTER SIX
Janet Reilly hummed along with Mozart's Piano Concerto No.21 as she arranged white lilies in a crystal vase.The back room of her flower shop felt like a little cathedral at this hour, filled with the gentle fragrance of fresh blooms and the soft glow of overhead work lights.Outside, the streets of Georgetown were quiet except for the occasional car passing by her storefront.It was an hour between 12:30 -1:30, which she took for lunch and a little freelance arranging in her workshop, coming up with new ideas and arrangements.
Petals & Stems occupied a narrow building that had housed various small businesses for over a century.During her fifteen years as owner, Janet had transformed the space into something magical.The front room displayed arrangements in vintage containers and mason jars.Wooden shelves displayed potted plants and seasonal decorations.Hand-painted signs announced daily specials in Janet's careful script, which she photographed and put online, but that, to her, just wasn't the same.
But the back room—site of her little workshop—was where the real work happened.Long tables held supplies organized with the precision of someone who'd spent decades perfecting her craft.Buckets of fresh flowers lined the walls, sorted by color and type.Rolls of ribbon hung from wooden pegs.Foam blocks and wire frames waited to be transformed into wedding centerpieces and funeral arrangements.
At sixty-two, Janet moved with the careful grace of someone who understood that her body needed more attention than it once had.Her silver hair was pulled back in a simple bun, secured with bobby pins.She wore a canvas apron over jeans and a soft sweater, practical clothes that could withstand the occasional thorn prick or water splash.The classical music station played softly from a small radio perched on one of the workbenches.Janet had discovered years ago that flowers seemed to respond to beautiful music.It might have been pure imagination on her part, but arrangements created while listening to Bach or Vivaldi always seemed to turn out more elegant than those assembled in silence.
This afternoon, she was preparing arrangements for three separate events.A small wedding reception at a local restaurant.A funeral service for an elderly man who'd been a regular customer for years.And lastly, a corporate event where the flowers would probably be ignored by people more focused on networking than natural beauty.
Each arrangement required different emotional considerations.The wedding flowers should convey joy and new beginnings.Soft pinks and whites with touches of green.The funeral arrangement needed dignity and comfort.Deep purples and muted golds that spoke of a life well-lived.The corporate flowers could be bold and contemporary, designed more for visual impact than symbolic meaning.
Janet selected stems of baby's breath to complement the white lilies.The delicate flowers added texture without overwhelming the larger blooms.She'd learned long ago that the best arrangements balanced simplicity with sophistication.Too many elements created chaos.Too few looked sparse and unfinished.
The Mozart concerto reached its famous second movement, the melody flowing like water over stones.Janet paused in her work to appreciate it.She then reached for a piece of floral wire and noticed an unusual smell drifting through the back room.Sweet and chemical, like cleaning products mixed with something synthetic.It was faint but distinct, cutting through the natural perfume of roses and carnations.
Janet frowned and set down her wire.She knew at once that the smell was not floral… and it was sharp enough to cut through the other fragrances of her workshop.The smell seemed out of place in the carefully maintained space.Nothing in her shop should produce that kind of sharp, artificial odor.
She walked around the worktable, trying to identify the source.The smell grew stronger near the back wall where the ventilation grate was mounted close to the ceiling.Janet looked up at the metal cover, wondering if something had gotten into the building's air system.Dead mice sometimes caused strange odors, but this didn't smell organic.In all honesty, it wasn’t too foul of a smell at all.
The radio continued playing Mozart, but Janet found herself having trouble concentrating on the familiar melody.Her head felt fuzzy and disconnected, like the beginning of a migraine but without the usual pain.She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision.But the sweet chemical smell was getting stronger.It filled her nostrils completely now, coating the back of her throat with an unpleasant taste.Janet covered her nose with her hand and breathed through her mouth, but that only seemed to make the sensation worse.
Something was definitely wrong.
She moved toward the small desk where she kept her phone, but her legs felt unsteady beneath her.The familiar back room seemed to shift and sway around her.Buckets of flowers blurred into streaks of color.The overhead lights became too bright and harsh.Her throat began to burn with increasing intensity.Each breath felt like inhaling fire.The sweet smell that had seemed merely unpleasant minutes before now felt like it was dissolving her respiratory system from the inside out.Janet gasped for air that wouldn't come.
She reached for her phone on a nearby counter but as soon as she had it in her grip, it slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.Janet tried to call out for help, but her voice emerged as nothing more than a raspy whisper.The burning sensation spread from her throat to her chest, making each breath a struggle against invisible flames.Tears started to form in her eye, the result of escalating panic that she could not control.
She stumbled toward the front of the shop, hoping to reach the landline phone… or maybe even street where someone might see her distress.But her coordination was failing completely.The workbench that she'd navigated around thousands of times now seemed like an insurmountable obstacle.
Janet's knees buckled and she fell among her flower arrangements.The white lilies she'd been preparing scattered across the floor, their petals mixing with baby's breath and ribbon scraps.The crystal vase shattered when it hit the concrete, sending water and glass fragments across her carefully organized workspace.
Janet tried to crawl toward the front door, but her arms wouldn't support her weight.The sweet chemical smell filled every cell of her body, burning through her lungs and into her bloodstream.The Mozart concerto continued playing from the radio, its beautiful melody now seeming to mock her desperate situation.
Her vision narrowed to a tunnel, then went gray around the edges.The last thing she saw was her hand reaching toward a fallen lily, its white petals now stained with water.The flower's natural beauty seemed to represent everything that was being stolen from her in these final moments and right before she blacked out, she desperately wished she could smell it.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Vic's bureau sedan cut through afternoon traffic as they headed toward the FBI field office in downtown D.C.Miles stared out the passenger window, watching the familiar landmarks of the nation's capital pass by in a blur.The Washington Monument rose in the distance, its clean lines a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts churning through his mind.
He needed to call Elena.The knowledge sat in his stomach like a lead weight, growing heavier with each mile they traveled away from Roosevelt Elementary.She would be finishing her meetings at the pharmaceutical lab soon, if she wasn’t already done, expecting him to meet him at home for dinner in the evening.And there would be discussions about the wedding—discussions they both enjoyed having, but were also starting to get a bit tired of; they'd both admitted that to one another.
But instead, he was diving deeper into another elemental murder case without giving her a chance to voice her concerns.
The guilt was overwhelming.Elena had been patient with his nightmares and distracted behavior since San Francisco.She'd supported his work and his periodic table theory obsession even when it consumed all his attention.Now he was repaying that by committing to another dangerous investigation, without even discussing it with her first.
But the fluorine manifesto left behind in Sarah Morrison’s room haunted him.Someone was continuing the periodic table murders with deadly precision.As peculiar as it sounded, Sarah Morrison could have been targeted because she’d used recalled art supplies in her kindergarten classroom.The killer's twisted logic had turned a dedicated teacher into a target for chemical purification.How many other innocent people were on their list?
“You look troubled,” Vic said out of the blue.“I thought you were itching for field work.”
“Oh.I am.But this time, I’m jumping right into it and I haven’t told my fiancée yet.”
